


Bedroom Hymns

by Coldsaturn



Category: Bellarke - Fandom, The 100 (TV)
Genre: Asphyxiaphilia, Consensual Non-Consent, Deepthroating, Explicit Sex, F/M, Implied Power Exchange, Vaginal Fingering, despite the tags the whole thing is actually pretty mild, humiliation play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 18:41:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1698632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coldsaturn/pseuds/Coldsaturn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She feels the uneven ground mark her knees as the smallest stones find the perfect place to wedge into her skin. It's not painful enough to distract her from her surroundings, but the constant tingle in her nerves is just right to make her more aware of what she's about to do, kneeling down at his feet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bedroom Hymns

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zoadgo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoadgo/gifts).



> If you're looking for plot, you won't find it here. This is literally all about sex.

 

There are some things which Clarke had promised to herself she would never feel again, once she landed on Earth. Remorse, like what she had felt for condemning his father to death. Fear, like what had numbed her common sense and led her to be imprisoned for information she shouldn't have had. Lack of control, like her whole life on the Ark, always following orders and rules she didn't believe in.

  
Well, the irony, she is now embracing all of them, and the worst thing is that it's all her fault.

  
"Kneel." The low growl travels down her back, making the hair on her body stand up. She closes her eyes, hoping that not seeing herself doing it will somehow make it less real. As she kneels down she repeats to herself that this is the right punishment for her actions. She deserves this, because she had been stupid enough to destroy everything they had done up ‘till then, for her now meaningless crush on Finn.

  
Remorse once again, for having chosen Spacewalker's rout of action instead of Bellamy's. Their rebel leader had immediately called her on the idiocy of the idea, the danger they were putting everyone in, the sick hope that she would gain back more terrain with Finn if she walked alongside him whenever she could. She really wanted to make up quickly for their lost time, but she had denied it in front of Bellamy anyway. She just wasn't going to admit her deepest hopes to him.

  
They had fought and she had used any kind of level to convince him that they were making the right choice. In the end Bellamy had given up the fight, more out of annoyance than anything else, muttering that he refused to argue over Finn instead of the group. She had felt relieved then and there, and Finn had looked at her with so much affection that she had just smiled back, already tasting their bond strengthening.

  
She feels the uneven ground mark her knees as the smallest stones find the perfect place to wedge into her skin. It's not painful enough to distract her from her surroundings, but the constant tingle in her nerves is just right to make her more aware of what she's about to do, kneeling down at his feet.

  
Clarke reaches out for his belt, unbuttoning his pants. She swallows as she pulls the rough fabric down enough to reveal the shape of his already hardening cock under his briefs.  
  
  
Here she starts feeling the fear freezing her veins, because the only thing that she knows about Bellamy right now is that he wants to make her pay. He had promised consequences if their plan didn't work out, and not only did it not work out, they were now under the direct control of the Grounders. They were the colony, the conquered ones. Finn had trusted their goodwill, Clarke had trusted Finn, and Bellamy had been right all along.  
  
  
They have to obey the Grounders just like she now has to obey Bellamy. It's a punishment of rare equality, and the familiar feeling of being controlled tastes bittersweet in her mouth. She'd never admit it out loud, but the relief for not sustaining the weight of being responsible for herself and others — even if only temporary — is so welcome that she wants to cry.  
  
  
Therefore it's with a feeling of déjà vu of her life back at the Ark, that she lets two fingers caress the length of his cock, not hiding a small sigh as she bathes in the warmth of his body.  
  
  
"Don't have all day, Princess."  
  
  
His voice wakes her up from her slumber and she clears her throat, clasping the elastic of his briefs and yanking them down, freeing his now fully erect cock.  
  
  
She can't help but stare for several seconds at its darkened head, the outlined veins, the tip glistening with a drop of precum.  
  
  
Clarke closes her eyes, letting his musky scent remind her that she isn't doing this willingly. This isn't Finn with his skin that tastes of air and fresh water. There isn't anything of Bellamy which tastes fresh and light. On the contrary, his scent is a perfect combination of musk and wood, and even with her eyes closed he's such a heavy presence that she finds herself short of breath.  
  
  
Bellamy lays a hand on her nape, slowly pushing his fingers through her hair, just as Clarke opens her mouth and seeks with the tip of her tongue that little drop of essence. She drags her tongue against the slit, feeling his breath catch and a tremor run down his legs.  
  
  
His other hand goes at her chin and he pushes it down, forcing her to open her mouth wide. Then he pulls her closer, his cock aligning between her lips and sliding inside.  
  
  
Clarke does her best to suppress a spontaneous hum as she feels the silky skin gliding easily on her tongue with increasing speed. Bellamy breathes heavily and starts moving his hips, pushing the head of his cock against the back of Clarke's throat.  
  
  
She's about to back away, panic slicing through her as she starts gagging, but he encircles her neck with his calloused fingers and rumbles   
"Take it."  
  
  
Her only chance to avoid choking is to relax her throat and to breathe through her nose, in offbeat accents with his thrusts.  
  
  
Bellamy groans his approval, always keeping her in place with his hands on her neck. His hips thrust a wicked rhythm down her throat, and the feeling of being filled and used in such a way makes her eyes water.  
Soon enough tears start rolling down her cheeks , but neither of them seem to acknowledge her state.  
  
  
Clarke stays perfectly motionless with her arms limp at her sides. At every invasion down her throat, her nose touches the hair at the base of his length and his scent explodes in her nostrils. It's almost funny, but she feels closer to him, somehow. She finds herself drifting away from the scene, watching it from somewhere above the both of them, and considers how much easier their partnership would have been if they had bonded like this from the very beginning.  
  
  
"Don't even think about going away, Princess." his hoarse voice once again rips her from her happy place, making her come crushing down into reality. "You stay right here with me."   
  
He pulls out and she whimpers, already missing the stretching, the filling of her mind with cotton and numbness. She wants cotton and numbness, it's the most safe and calm she has felt since they have landed on Earth.  
  
  
Bellamy laughs softly after hearing her disappointment and pulls her up, cleaning her chin full of spit with his sleeve. Just when Clarke is about to ask him what he's doing, he reaches down and puts a hand inside her panties, not wasting any time before pushing two fingers inside.  
  
  
Clarke immediately tenses up and flails, but Bellamy grabs her waist and bends his fingers, as if trying to hook into her from the inside, and Clarke suddenly feels a shot of electricity that forces her to cry out. Or at least it's what she wanted to do, instead of the full-fledged moan that has just left her mouth, and she knows in this instant that she couldn't be more ashamed of herself.  
  
  
"Just in case you were calling this 'rape'," Bellamy bends viciously his fingers and Clarke manages to stay up only thanks to the arm around her waist, "you're dripping wet."  
  
  
As if to further prove his point, he stops tormenting her insides and drags his hand on her cheek, paying attention to paint her lips with her own mark of treachery.  
Scratch that, she can still feel more ashamed.  
  
  
Clarke gulps down her guilt and meets his eyes, finding them filled with so much lust and yearning that she almost forgets that this is not what she really wants. Her tongue peaks out of her mouth and she absent-mindedly licks at her own juice. She has not even reached the other side of her bottom lip when Bellamy leans down and caresses her tongue with his own, sucking the half lip she's not cleaned yet, tasting her on her mouth.  
  
  
Both Clarke and Bellamy keep their eyes focused on each other as Bellamy nibbles at her lower lip and finally pushes his tongue inside, seeking his own taste this time. She doesn't fight the kiss, responding mechanically every time his tongue touches hers, but otherwise doing nothing to encourage it. He doesn't seem to mind. Still, she just can't keep her eyes open, so she lowers her lids, sighing through her nose.  
  
  
Bellamy pulls her in, closing every body cell they hadn't in contact with each other. He draws out the kiss, his lips lingering on hers, testing her compliance as she follows his tongue out of her mouth. The caress he brushes along her jaw sings a "Good girl" in her brain, and Clarke has a fleeting moment of consciousness in which she realizes what he's doing.   
  
  
She pushes at his chest with both hands creating some kind of distance, even though Bellamy keeps them joined at the hip.   
  
"Can't you just do it?" Clark huffs, getting even more mad at herself because she can't tear her eyes away from his lips, now red and swollen after the attentions she contributed to gave them.  
  
  
Bellamy answers with a little roll of his hips, his cock—still hard and out of his pants—pressed against her belly, begging to be touched. Clarke tries to look angrily at him, but whatever expression she's showing only gets him to grin crookedly. "We'll do this my way, which means that you'll be enjoying the hell out of it and you won't be able to tell yourself that you were just enduring it."  
  
  
Clarke is already close to begging him to leave her with the little self-respect she still has, but she senses that there's no way out of it. They'd made a pact, and Bellamy always keeps his word. What she can do to save her dignity, despite everything she might do, is to keep hers in return.   
  
  
Bellamy reaches down under her pants with his right hand, brushing his knuckles against the soft fabric of her panties. "I'm still hearing you think." His left hand goes up from her waist to her neck and he squeezes with his fingers digging at the sides, pressing some incredibly painful nerves that make her hold her breath. Right in that moment he pulls the band of her panties aside and pushes his middle finger inside of her, hitting her g spot with incredible ease.   
  
  
Clarke arches against him, hating the way her legs seem to open on their own. She fails to draw breath, and the instinctive ache in her lungs makes her pussy convulse in such a delicious way around his finger that she finds herself repeating the movement. Bellamy softens his grasp and she breathes in, only to be cut off in the middle of it by his grip whilst he tortures her inner muscles.   
  
  
Surprising herself, she finds a way to moan even with his fingers dug painfully into her neck. Bellamy laughs wickedly and Clarke can swear his voice literally feels like honey being dripped on her skin. It sends her a wave of heat from her toes to her cheeks, but she doesn't have the time to process it as he brushes her clit with his thumb and she almost cries out his name. Luckily, she changes it in the end into a strangled moan.   
  
  
Bellamy gives her another little push before removing his hand and shamelessly licking his finger. "I think it's time you return the favor."  
  
  
Clarke doesn't know if she should feel relieved or scared. It's true that she'd finally get her punishment, maybe even finding some kind of forgiveness at the end, but on the other hand it would also mean baring herself completely in front of Bellamy. If there was even the smallest hope that their relationship would somehow survive, this was it, this would be the last pull that would snap the thread binding them together. How could she even think about looking him in the eyes tomorrow?  
  
  
Trying not to show how much it hurts her to think that this is probably the last time she and Bellamy are this close, she fakes a smile that doesn't even reach half of her face. "What, you want my finger up your ass?"  
  
  
Bellamy bursts out laughing and Clarke just stares at him trying to memorize every single detail of his face, now that he's relaxed and open. Now that he's just Bellamy and not their usual rebel leader.   
  
  
He sits on the ground with his back against the makeshift bed and looks up at her, with glistening eyes and a smile that could light up the whole camp. Bellamy tilts slightly his head on the side. "Strip, then come here." he orders, patting his legs.   
  
  
Clarke feels herself reaching out for her pants' button and sliding them down her legs, realizing too late that she still has her shoes on. She mutters a "Sorry—" and Bellamy snorts while she quickly unties her shoestrings and kicks off her shoes. She then resumes with her clothing removal, because really, she couldn't call it any thing else. She is just getting them out of the way without the least intention of making it into a show. 

  
  
She probably wants to do this, but it doesn't mean that Bellamy has to know it.   
  
  
Once the pants are gone she pushes down her underwear too, forcing herself to avoid Bellamy's gaze as she starts with her upper clothes. She doesn't want to consider what he thinks of her. With Finn she had felt that he wanted to be with her, that he had _cared_ for her, and so she hadn't felt too self-conscious about her body.   
But this time, man, was she self-conscious...  
  
  
Once she's totally naked she walks over where he is and she sits on his lap, straddling him. It isn't erotic, it isn't intimate. Clarke can bet that Bellamy is feeling a little like a chair, for all the involvement she's showing.  
  
  
But of course one cannot fool Leader Bellamy, who just shakes his head as if he's mocking her and whispers "C'mere", instantly making her explode in goosebumps.   
Way to go unnoticed.   
She leans over, hoping that he will just ignore how her body is responding to him, but it's obviously his primary intention getting her frustrated like that.   
  
  
Bellamy starts caressing her knees, brushing circles on her thighs and so damn slowly getting higher with each stroke. He moves toward her so that his face is mere inches away from hers, his eyes focused on her mouth. Bellamy licks at his lips and Clarke suddenly can't stand her dead arms anymore, thus she dares moving her right hand, lightly touching his left one on her thigh. He immediately recoils, leaving her with the sick feeling of being rejected while totally naked on a fully clothed guy. Is he trying to break every record for the most humiliating moments in her life?  
  
  
She's just about to stand up and run away when Bellamy moves his right hand and touches his half-mast, stroking it slowly in rhythmically measured pulls in order to make it hard again. Clarke stops whatever she was trying to do or think.   
  
  
"I know what you want to do." Bellamy starts with an impressively cool voice for someone masturbating in front of her while she's naked.   
  
  
"And what would that be?" she inquires never turning away her gaze from his cock getting visibly harder.   
  
  
"You want me to use and abuse you so that you can feed your personal catharsis and forgive yourself."  
  
  
Breathing and blinking her eyes suddenly become impossible tasks as she feels her cheeks reddening and her body growing cold. How is it that Bellamy can always see right through her like she's the most boring and obvious puzzle?   
  
  
"Unfortunately for you, I refuse to be used for your personal crisis, so here is what you're gonna do for me: I want you to ride me."  
  
  
Clarke for a moment wonders if she's heard correctly. She would have expected something more coercive from him, and somehow the meaning she's finding in his words doesn't match at all with his character, nor with the smugness written all over his face. And what is the use of all of this if she isn't getting in the end what she really needs, to pay for her mistakes?   
  
  
"I said, ride me. And I won't ever repeat an order twice again, understood?" his voice rumbles in a demanding tone that she has heard only on rare occasions. She can't blame herself for feeling a little bit intimidated by it.   
  
  
"Yes, sorry." She quickly tries to recover, grabbing his cock and pushing herself up to guide it at her entrance, tensing up when Bellamy slaps her hard on her thigh. It stings like hell. When Clarke lifts her gaze she finds him looking at her with his eyebrows raised in a clear warning. She's got the message alright.   
  
  
Clarke positions herself over his cock and after a moment of doubt, she lowers herself, feeling it stretching her wide as it slides in. It's maddeningly slow and not nearly enough, but it's not exactly a comfortable position until she's totally seated on him, and even then her knees are going to bruise and hurt, her legs will probably cramp after a while, she will need to use something for leverage and fuck everything, now she gets what Bellamy is really doing. She wants to kill him.   
  
  
Bellamy must have sensed what's happening in her head because he grins and puts his hands behind his head, looking for a moment at his cock halfway inside and then back up at her.  
  
  
The whole point of her punishment was to submit to him and endure passively whatever he wanted to throw at her. It should have been cathartic, and later she would have surely felt less unbalanced, less guilty. The only huge fault in her reasoning was thinking that Bellamy would have acted as she wanted.   
  
  
"What kind of punishment would it be if you were to get exactly what you want?" Bellamy asks her, reading her mind.   
  
  
Clarke lowers another inch and her clit buries inside his pubic hair. The head of his cock is so far inside of her that it hurts, and when she's sure that she's starting to get used to his size, he hardens even more, coaxing a whimper out of her. Someone is clearly getting turned on by her distress.   
  
  
"Ride me, Princess."   
  
  
She sighs and lifts herself up until she feels the slightly wider head almost coming out, then she meets his eyes in a silent dare and slams herself down, hard. Bellamy groans as she bites down on her lower lip to stop herself from crying out. God, why was she doing this again?  
  
  
"Again." he demands hoarsely and she obliges, going up one more time and then falling down. After some tries she sets an easy rhythm for her legs, her hands on her thighs, not wanting to touch him because then he would have what he wants.   
  
  
The official excuse for her heavy breathing is that this position tires her quicker than she thought it would. She stays with her eyes closed or pointed at the roof of the tent, focusing on anything but him. The only way she's remembering that he's even there is that she's pounding his cock inside of her.   
  
  
Bellamy snorts and she instinctively looks down, curious about what has made him laugh. "You're so pathetic. You're still telling yourself that you're enduring this. But look, Clarke, look how fucking. Wet. You. Are." he punctuates the last three words thrusting up with his hips, and Clarke can't help but moan miserably as the angle changes and the head of his cock starts ramming against her g spot.  
"Look at your hard nipples," thrust, "Look at your flushed face," another thrust, "At your pupils shot so wide that your eyes are black." He grabs her hips and quickens his rhythm.   
  
  
It would be utterly futile at this point trying to convince him that she isn't enjoying the ride. It's actually the best thing she has ever felt, and the revelation leaves her raw and needy.   
  
  
"So now tell me, Princess, are you just enduring this?"   
  
  
"N-no." Clarke manages to mutter in the end.   
  
  
"Not nearly enough, babe. Do you like it?"  
  
  
"Yes." She forces her voice to come out steadier this time, but the moans are still getting the better part of her vocal ability.   
  
  
"Yes, you like what?" Bellamy insists, and Clarke can't find in herself the will to get mad at him. She honestly tries to go against his will, but every time he moves he makes her cry out in pleasure, and the fight is over before it can even begin.   
  
  
"Yes, I like you fucking me." She confesses in the end, feeling a wave of embarrassment so strong that her legs give up and she slams down on him, making them both groan.  
  
  
"Still not enough, Clarke. You won't get to come until you will confess what you're doing."   
  
  
God, could he be any more annoying? "I like your cock inside of me, okay? I like riding it, or sucking it, or whatever you want to use it for with me."  
  
  
"It's too easy if you distance yourself using your anger. I want an honest admission, something that will destroy your useless defenses and leave you as naked as you are right now. Then you will finally be true to yourself, and you will make up for betraying my trust in you."  
  
  
Clarke starts tearing up even before she fully registers the meaning of what he's said. The tears fall from her eyes and she wants to laugh because she's still getting closer and closer to her climax, and how can she have an orgasm while crying? How fucked up is she, really?  
But most importantly, how can Bellamy Blake get under her skin so easily?   
  
  
"I'm so d-deeply s-sorry--" she doesn't even know if she's shivering or sobbing anymore, but it doesn't matter. "I should have listened to you, I should have trusted you. I was wrong, I was so sure that he was worth the risk, but once I realized I had lost everything but him, I understood that he wasn't nearly enough to fill the void I had left behind. And I have failed so many people who trusted me, and I betrayed you, and I'm so ashamed and sorry." she reaches out and hugs him, surprising the hell out of both of them, judging by the way he tenses up and she freezes in shock.  
  
  
"That's enough, Princess. You were good, really good." Bellamy slowly squeezes her back, soothing her with a whispered litany of "We're good, I trust you, you're forgiven." that makes her want to cry even more.   
  
  
Clarke holds onto him for dear life for what seems like forever, until he groans in frustration and nibbles at her shoulder. "Can we please cuddle after we finish fucking?"  
  
  
She laughs and he nuzzles her neck, bathing in her relaxed and happy tone. "I owe you an orgasm, since you did what you were told." he whispers in her ear, and Clarke's body is immediately on alert again.   
  
  
She doesn't have the time to nod that he's already thrusting up inside of her, and this time she doesn't hold back, moving in perfect rhythm with him and chanting her pleasure for him.   
  
  
Bellamy leans against the bed, grasping her hips, and Clark arches back, finding again the right angle to reach her climax.   
  
  
"Oh God, Bellamy, right there, please..." she begs him, and Bellamy starts ramming against her with so much force that she's sure the slaps of her skin meeting his can be heard from the other side of the camp.   
  
  
He groans and as she glances at him she feels herself glow in pride, for making Bellamy wear that expression of total bliss.   
  
  
"C'mon, Clarke, I want you to come." he orders brushing her clit with his thumb and then pinching it between two fingers, rolling it between them while still hitting that perfect bundle of nerves inside her.   
  
  
"Oh my God!" She starts losing her battle against her impending orgasm seconds after he starts touching her clit, and soon enough she finally feels it washing over her, making her spasm around his cock, creating a convulsing grip which sends him over the edge after a few thrusts.   
  
  
"Ah, fuck!" he heaves, slowing down his rhythm and rolling his hips languidly , forcing her to moan again.   
  
  
Bellamy pulls back until his cock is out of her and Clarke whimpers at the loss, leaning her head against his shoulder, waiting for her breathing to normalize and for the world to stop spinning.   
  
  
"You know that you're dripping my cum on my legs, right?" Bellamy asks as he starts brushing her back with the tip of his fingers. Clarke just hums in response.   
  
  
"Can we at least cuddle on the bed?"   
  
  
"Hmmm."   
  
  
She hears Bellamy sigh and mutter a low "I hate you."  
  
  
She has no choice but to laugh.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is dedicated to the lovely and ridiculously talented [Zoadgo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoadgo/pseuds/Zoadgo), who also kindly edited it for me.
> 
> Uhm, I feel like I need to explain this: at some point, Bellamy tells her that she can't think of it as rape because she's wet. He's totally mindfucking her, ok? I had no intention whatsoever of giving the message that if one gets wet, then she's enjoying it. Nope. Bellamy knows it too.  
> There, now I feel better.
> 
> Also, yes, the title is taken from the song "Bedroom Hymns", by Florence + The Machine
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks to anyone who will read it, comment it, _kudos it_ , ignore it etc.  
> Feel totally free to contact me here or on [my tumblr](http://coldsaturn.tumblr.com)!


End file.
